The Best Valentine's Day Ever
by Hipster Canada
Summary: Alfred and Arthur each know that their boyfriend is a pretty special guy. This Valentine's Day, Alfred goes a little over the top to ensure it turns out to be the best Valentine's Day Ever.


Arthur Kirkland knew something was up.

Something was _always_ up with _his_ boyfriend. Alfred had an overwhelming propensity for ensuring that something was going on. Be it surprising Arthur with a clean apartment (which had only happened once, but Arthur had been completely overwhelmed by the thoughtfulness of the gesture) or taking Arthur out for dinner to somewhere that _wasn't_ a McDonald's (which happened fairly regularly, actually) or just being his naturally quirky self. Alfred was Alfred, and Arthur wouldn't have it any way else. He actually found it rather adorable when Alfred thought to surprise him with something sweet. Life with Alfred F. Jones was never boring, Arthur knew this for fact.

Having been dating the man for just over a year, Arthur was certain he had never met anyone who affected him to the degree that Alfred did. The blonde haired American footballer had swept Arthur off his feet from the first wink of those incredible blue eyes. Ever since their initial encounter in Heathrow International Airport one blessedly fortunate October day, Arthur had not been able to stop thinking about the incredibly handsome American who had decided to strike up a conversation with him.

"Hey."

Arthur blinked up at the blonde man who had decided to occupy the seat beside him. "Hello."

"Your flight delayed, too?"

Arthur shook his head briskly and returned his gaze to his book. "No, it just doesn't leave for another hour or so."

"Then why're you here already?"

Arthur frowned and turned a page in his novel. "Because I did not want to miss my flight."

"But if it doesn't leave for an hour-"

"I like to arrive early for things." Arthur cut him off with a brisk reply. Silence followed, and Arthur assumed the conversation was ended.

"My flight got delayed. Something about snow back home. Gosh, I hope it snowed back home. We don't get too much snow in Texas. I really miss it. When I was a kid, I lived up in the Midwest, and it snowed buckets. Five months out of the year, you're practically guaranteed snow! Do you like snow?"

Arthur raised his head, looking straight out across the airport. This American really liked to talk. "Not particularly," he replied simply.

"Better than rain though, right?"

"I like rain."

"Really? Me too," Alfred said. "My name's Alfred, by the way. Alfred Fitzgerald Jones."

The name rang a bell somewhere in the back of Arthur's mind. "Arthur Kirkland," he replied absently.

"Arthur! Like the king?"

Arthur let a bemused smile slip onto his face. "Yes, I suppose. Though I believe I was named for my grandfather."

"I was named after my uncle Al," Alfred says. "And JFK. That's where the Fitzgerald comes from. He's my dad's favorite president."

"Lovely."

"So where are you headed?"

"New York City."

"New York? Really? That's so cool! I love New York. I'm probably getting traded there next season! What takes you to the States?"

"Business."

"Cool. That's kinda why I'm here in England. 'Cept I don't know if it's really _business_. It's just a game."

Arthur's confusion must have shown on his face. That, or Alfred decided to explain at will. "I'm a football player. One of the best running backs in the league, not to brag or anything. We just played a game at your Wimbley Stadium."

"Wembley," Arthur corrected. "It's Wembley." Arthur hesitated for a second, but ended up turning and studying the man beside him more closely. He wore a grey t-shirt emblazoned with a sports logo of some kind, blue jeans, and sneakers. Beneath the thin cotton of his shirt, he looked very well-built. Arthur felt himself blush at just the thought. "So you're a footballer, hmm? You must be in town for the American football game that was at Wembley this morning, yes?"

"You got it!" Alfred grinned. "Do you like football?"

"I do enjoy a bit of football," Arthur said. Alfred's face lit up until Arthur added "_European_ football. A game actually aptly titled for it's use of _feet_."

"You mean soccer?"

"Football."

"I'm pretty sure it's soccer."

"It's football, you _git_. I don't know how you Americans think you can get away with calling your ridiculous sport football when there's already a game by that name." Arthur scoffed, but Alfred grinned harder. "What are you smiling for?"

"You're funny," Alfred said, a lopsided smile still spread across his face, increasing his already handsome features. Oh, how Arthur almost hated those fellows who could be so incredibly good looking without even trying. "I like you, Arthur."

"Yes, well. I suppose I shall accept your compliment. I don't hear that all too often."

"I dunno why. You seem pretty cool to me."

Arthur felt a blush rise on his face again. "You don't even know me."

Just then, a voice over the PA system announced a flight was now boarding. Alfred stood. "That's my flight." He looked almost regretful at the fact.

"Yes, well. Then you should hurry along now. Don't want to miss your flight- Oh!" Arthur pressed his back flush against the airport seat when Alfred's face was suddenly very close to Arthur's. "What are you doing?!" Arthur said, trying to sound indignant and not breathless.

"You're right. I don't know you, Artie. But I'd like to." Alfred withdrew and Arthur looked down, finding that Alfred had slipped a piece of paper into his book. Ten digits graced the paper. Arthur felt his cheeks rage with an embarrassed flush. He looked back up, but Alfred was already almost to the gate. At the last moment, right before Alfred boarded his flight, he turned back and winked at Arthur.

And from that moment on, Arthur had been hooked on Alfred F. Jones.

*H*A*P*P*Y*V*A*L*E*N*T*I*N*E*S*D*A*Y*

Alfred just _had_ to pull off the perfect Valentine's Day.

In his mind, it was non-optional. He had the perfect boyfriend, and that boyfriend deserved the perfect Valentine's Day!

Okay, so maybe Arthur wasn't _perfect_. He had a terrible temper, an awful cussing habit, and he had the bushiest eyebrows that Alfred had ever seen in his life. Like, bigger than Groucho Marx's eyebrows. That was okay with Alfred, though. Arthur might not have been perfect, but he was perfect for Alfred.

Alfred had never been so completely head-over-heels for anyone the way he was for Arthur. The cranky Brit held a very special place in Alfred's heart, and he had ever since they'd met. That flight delay was the biggest blessing that Alfred had ever experienced. It had pissed off his coach, and half the team, but it had given him Arthur. And that was worth any fit of rage that Coach took out on the team when they'd arrived back at practice.

Alfred had never been so ecstatic as he had been when he'd gotten out of practice and heard that low accented voice on his voicemail. A couple weeks of correspondence between the two ensued, until fate had it that Arthur was in New York on business again on the very same weekend that Alfred had a game in New Jersey. Sparks flew even more heavily than the first time, and Alfred asked Arthur to be his boyfriend.

Happy chance decided that Arthur's living State-side was more practical than crossing the Pond every few weeks. A trade negotiation in the off-season brought Alfred to a team in New York. And that was where they were now – living in a nice apartment some floors above Manhattan, with a view of Central Park as their backyard. Alfred was planning to retire once his contract in New York was up and live happily ever after with Arthur. Because he sure as heck knew he'd never be able to live without his perfect, bushy-browed Brit. Case in point was made with one perfect example from just two weeks ago.

Alfred's football team had made it all the way to the Super Bowl, the biggest and most important game in football. Arthur had accompanied Alfred to the big game, claiming he had to cheer on his boyfriend in person, since this was the biggest game of his career thus far. Arthur had (surprisingly without request from Alfred) worn a ridiculously unfitting blue and red jersey, adorned with the name JONES on the back and the same number 50 as Alfred wore on the field.

Alfred had caught a couple glimpses of him on the jumbo-tron during the game and thought he looked completely adorable in the oversized shirt, his face screwed up in a frown because Alfred's team had just lost their lead. Whenever he had the chance, he waved at Arthur, whose emerald gaze barely wavered from Alfred through the entire game. Whenever Alfred waved, Arthur grinned and waved back, even when Alfred's team began to trail even as it grew dangerously close to the end of the game.

When the final whistle blew and the last play called dead, the celebration began. But not for Alfred's team. They had put up a fabulous fight, and made it one of the most entertaining games the Super Bowl had seen in some years, but in the end, they had lost. While the opposing team celebrated in the confetti raining down in their team colors, the members of Alfred's team congratulated them with handshakes like the good sports they were, then quietly began to file off to the locker room.

Arthur managed to make his way onto the field and over to Alfred before he vacated, however. Arthur grasped Alfred by his shoulder pads and gave him a sympathetic smile. "You did your best, love. That's all you can ask for."

Alfred smiled down at his blonde haired Brit. "I know. It was a fun game."

Arthur took a deep breath and shifted his hands to rest on Alfred's shoulder pads. "Well, whatever the final score... you're a winner in my book, Alfred."

The scene that went unnoticed by the camera crews that were so focused on the winning team was that of a short Brit in an oversized jersey kissing a sweaty, grass-stained running back with a fervent passion. While no one else may have noticed the scene, Alfred knew he would never forget it. He would forever cherish that moment, because he had earned something better than any Super Bowl ring. He'd earned Arthur's love.

Alfred's amazing boyfriend deserved the best Valentine's Day ever. And Alfred was determined to give him just that.

*H*A*P*P*Y*V*A*L*E*N*T*I*N*E*S*D*A*Y*

Arthur arrived home to the building that housed the apartment he shared with Alfred and rode alone as the elevator carried him some floors above the ground level. Fishing for his keys in his coat pocket, Arthur almost missed the note on the door. At the last second, he glanced up and saw it. Snatching it off the door, he read it aloud. "Arthur, Come on in, it's open. Love, Alfred." Rolling his eyes, he stuffed the note into his coat pocket and twisted the knob. "Alfred, honestly," he called out, turning directly to the closet to hang up his coat and scarf. "Why would you just leave that note out for anyone to see? We might live in the Upper East, but that doesn't mean..." Arthur trailed off as he turned from the closet and saw red. Literally. Red, pink, and white, in every shade imaginable. "What in God's name...?"

In the middle of this sea of red and pink was Alfred. Alfred stood in the very center of the living room, wearing a _very_ nice suit (complete with a bow tie); looking incredibly sexy, with that trademark grin was spread across his face. "Happy Valentine's Day, Artie."

Arthur stared for a moment. "Alfred, I..."

Alfred's grin faltered for a split second. "I just... wanted it to be special. So I called that florist on the corner and told 'em I wanted everything they had left. And then that wasn't much, so I went to Macy's and got some more. And I-"

"Alfred stop." Arthur took a few very quick steps until he was right in front of Alfred. He looked up at his boyfriend and his lips turned up in a smile. "You are too good to me."

"Oh, Artie, I-"

"Hush, love. I'm talking to you. I have absolutely no idea how a man as wonderful as you ever took a fancy to a simple Englishman like me. I am certain I've never done anything good enough to deserve you, Alfred Fitzgerald Jones. But I'm so bloody happy that you're mine."

Alfred's grin broke wide across his face as Arthur wrapped his arms around his shoulders and kissed him. "There's more," Alfred said once Arthur pulled away.

"What?"

"This is just the beginning. I planned the best Valentine's Day ever! We have reservations at the Union Square Cafe. And we'll have dinner, dessert, some wine, come back here..." Alfred stole a quick kiss from Arthur that went directly south. "Did I mention I decorated our bedroom too?"

Arthur smiled and cupped Alfred's cheeks with his hands. "Hmm. How long will all this take, love? Skipping straight to the bedroom sounds pretty good to me right now."

Alfred groaned softly as Arthur kissed him sensually. "It doesn't have to take too long," Alfred murmured. "But our reservations are in half an hour."

Arthur pulled himself away from Alfred, much to the chagrin of the tall footballer. "Then I should go change. If I'm to go out with this bloody handsome thing I call my boyfriend, I have to get out of this tweed."

"Hey Artie?" Alfred called as Arthur headed for their room to change. Arthur turned back, one hand gripping the doorjamb.

"Yes Alfred?"

"I love you."

Arthur gave the most sincere smile he'd ever mustered with ease. "I love you, too, Alfred."

"Happy Valentine's Day."

"Happy Valentine's Day, love." Then, with a wink of one emerald green eye, Arthur disappeared into the bedroom.

*H*A*P*P*Y*V*A*L*E*N*T*I*N*E*S*D*A*Y*

Alfred felt strangely relaxed. It might have had something to do with the peaceful dinner he'd had with his lover, the incredible chocolate dessert that followed, or perhaps the entire bottle of wine they'd polished off in the course of their two hours at the restaurant. Alfred had expected to be much more nervous with his plans for that evening. After all, even the most collected of men got a little nervous when they had an engagement ring in their pocket.

Alfred decided that the reason he was so relaxed was because he knew he was making the right choice. Having dinner with Arthur tonight and seeing the other man at his prime reinforced in Alfred's mind just how perfect Arthur was for him. He watched Arthur smile and laugh and share his mind with Alfred. The wine had loosened Arthur up as well, but the Englishman had a fair alcohol tolerance. Unless you were drinking brandy. Then all hell could break loose after just a couple of glasses.

"Hey Artie?"

"Yes, love?" Arthur smiled and leaned his elbow on the table, resting his chin gracefully on one hand. Alfred had captured the other hand after they had finished their desserts, and the two hands lay entwined on the table between them.

"Can I ask you a question?"

"Of course you can, Alfred. You can ask me anything."

Alfred took a breath and grinned at Arthur. His heart skipped when the smile was returned. "Will you marry me?"

Surprise flooded the green eyes Alfred loved so much. Arthur's chin slipped off his hand and his head bobbed slightly. "Marry you?"

"Yeah. I love you so much, Arthur. I want you to marry me, because I know that since I know you, I could never live without you again." Alfred's blue eyes were sincere and flooded with tenderness. Arthur fairly melted at the sight. "So will you marry me?"

"Oh Alfred," Arthur sighed, feeling the joy slip into his expression as he squeezed Alfred's hand across the table. "Yes. Yes, of course I'll marry you, love."

Alfred's face broke into a grin as he leaned across the table to kiss Arthur. The two realized during their quick kiss that the room had broken into applause. Arthur blushed profusely and sat back in his seat while Alfred grinned at him. "That's how I feel inside. Except louder."

Arthur had to laugh. "My insides feel roughly like the inside of that football stadium two weeks ago when you scored that incredible touchdown in the second quarter."

Alfred kept beaming. "That's pretty loud."

"Of course it is, git. Except _I'm_ more excited." Arthur smiled at his new fiance.

"Oh!" Alfred exclaimed suddenly. "I have a ring, too."

"You bought me a ring?"

"Sure I did!" Alfred produced a simple gold band and slipped it onto Arthur's ring finger. It fit perfectly. "Now everyone knows you're mine."

"I love you, Alfred Jones."

"I love you, Arthur Kirkland."

"Shall we go hail a taxi?"

"Why?"

"Didn't you say something about a newly decorated room in our apartment, love?" Arthur winked suggestively as the hint clicked in Alfred's mind.

"Yeah, a taxi sounds good." Alfred stood and kept his hold on Arthur's hand as they exited the restaurant, hailed a taxi, and made out in the back seat the whole ride home.

Several hours later, when both lay spend in each others arms, Alfred pressed a lazy kiss to Arthur's forehead. "Did I throw a good enough Valentine's Day?"

"Oh Alfred. You threw the best Valentine's Day ever, love."

*H*A*P*P*Y*V*A*L*E*N*T*I*N*E*S*D*A*Y*

* * *

_**A/N: I know most of you probably don't know this, or couldn't care less, but there is one flaw in this story. Maybe more, but one flaw I let remain on purpose. In the NFL, the numbering system allows certain positions to hold certain numbers. Running backs, which is what Alfred is in this story, are permitted to wear numbers in the range of 20 to 49.  
50 is typically reserved for defensive linemen and linebackers. But I just had to give Alfred number 50. It's America! So if you can take that one little flaw, I hope the rest of the story wasn't too awful. As the rabid football fan I am, I had to make it a football related AU. I hope you all don't mind too terribly.**_

_**Happy Valentine's Day. To all you who live vicariously through romantic novels and fanfiction to ease the sting of having no significant other on Valentine's Day... I'm with ya. I'll spend all the 14th hoping that maybe next year I'll finally have a boyfriend...**_


End file.
